


May Tomorrow Never Come

by carolferris



Series: The Bat and The Flash [1]
Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Riding, Size Kink, ezra miller's jawline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 20:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12778863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolferris/pseuds/carolferris
Summary: Barry rides Bruce in his private jet. That's it, that's the fic.





	May Tomorrow Never Come

**Author's Note:**

> Translation into 中文 available: [May Tomorrow Never Come](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12912378) by [osdom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/osdom/pseuds/osdom)
> 
> For imagery purposes: this is the room Barry and Bruce are in http://cdn.collider.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/justice-league-movie-image-34.png. I wanted this fic to be set in the batcave but I honestly can’t remember it having comfortable chairs or a sofa so I settled for the private jet instead. Unbeta'd.

“You should get some rest, Barry.” 

Barry shifts in the comfortable leather chair inside Bruce’s private jet. It’s late, maybe three in the morning, and they’re flying to metropolis to resurrect Superman’s dead body. With one of the mother boxes. Which Victor has hidden in his bedroom. Yep. It's complete madness, but what exactly about this situation isn’t? There are robot demons chasing people across the world, orchestrated by a bloodlust ancient God who’s trying to turn earth into a literal version hell. It only took, like, a thousand warriors to put him down the first time he tried it. 

Which brings Barry to a problem: he isn’t a warrior. Not like Diana. He can’t move the entire sea like Arthur, or access every database in the world like Victor, and he sure as hell isn’t rich enough to buy Effective Fancy Battle Stuff like Bruce is. All he has is a homemade suit and a few running abilities. Truth be told, even with all that power, the team needs Superman now more than ever. Hell, the world needs Superman now more than ever. He isn’t sure he can do this, but he has to try.

It doesn’t make the situation any less scary, though. Barry is a naturally anxious being, his ability to view the world faster than any other person makes it about a thousand times worse. Not to mention the fact that he's currently sitting in Bruce Wayne’s private jet. Batman’s private jet. The two of them are surely going to be spending some time together, seeing as the team has agreed to gather at Superman’s fallen Kryptonian ship at noon. Arthur and Victor are responsible for digging up Superman’s body, while Diana… Well, no one knows where Diana has gone to. Probably off to do goddess-like stuff, like the goddess that she is. 

Barry makes a mental note to evaluate his feelings for Diana at a better time. Is it motherly-like affection? Is it complete and utter reverence? Is it sexual? He immediately discards the last option. 

“Barry?” Bruce calls for Barry, tilting his head to examine the boy as if there's something wrong with him. “You in there?”

“Uh, y-yeah, sure. I’m good.” He stammers. “What’s up?” 

“I said you should get some rest,” Bruce says and sits down on the opposite leather chair. “We’re in for a couple more hours, and you look like you haven’t slept in a week.” He gives Barry a concerned look, kind of like Barry’s father does whenever Barry visits him in prison, except… It’s different. Barry can’t exactly place how or why. 

“Oh, no, I’m good. You should sleep. I’ll just hang around a bit, if that’s okay?” Barry asks. He never admits he’s tired, and he doesn’t let himself fall asleep until his body is shutting down from pure exhaustion. He’s stubborn like that.

Bruce gives Barry a small nod and the boy stands up from his chair, headed towards the bathroom. Inside the small cabin, he turns on the light and stares at his figure in the mirror. My God, he does look like shit. The water tap turns itself on and he splashes some over his face and neck, dissipating the tension concentrated in his upper body. As Barry dries his face with a clean white towel, he catches himself trying look presentable. Puts his hair back in place, gives his cheeks a slap or two. He is absolutely not doing this because Bruce Wayne thinks he doesn’t look good. Nope. Not the reason at all. Why'd he care what Bruce thinks of his physical appearance? Doesn’t make any sense. 

Walking into the room again, he finds Bruce has removed his waistcoat, a few loose bottoms of his navy-blue shirt leaving his chest exposed. Silver-painted brown locks fall out of its place and a glass of what looks like scotch rests in his hand as he stares forward with a concerned look splattered across his face. He's only met the man two days ago, but he can already tell Bruce is as sleep deprived as he is. It’s three in the morning and they're both awake, after all.

“Want some company?” He says, sitting back down on chair and pulling Bruce out of his thoughts.

“Well, it’s not like I have a choice.” Bruce mocks, brings the glass to his lips and takes a sip of the liquid. “Help yourself.” 

Barry chuckles and reaches for the expensive-looking bottle sitting on the glass table between the two chairs, pouring some of the light orange liquid into another glass. He's never been much of a drinker, but it doesn’t look like there’s much of anything to do in there, so figures. Why not? 

“Yeah, well, looks like we’re stuck together.” Barry says, choking on the drink as soon as it hits the back of his throat. “Oh, shit, this is really, really strong,” he coughs and the way he gasps for air is almost comical. Bruce smiles faintly, clearly amused at the boy’s struggle with the alcohol.

“Put some ice in it, it’ll make it softer. Here,” Bruce says, grabbing a couple of ice cubs from a metal container and dropping it on Barry’s glass. 

“Thanks,” he says. “Although I do hope you’ve washed your hands because I’m about to drink your germs, man.” He chuckles a bit, and Bruce sneers.

“Oh, don’t worry. I have.” 

Just like that, the playful moment between them is over and Bruce shifts back into concerned mode. The jet falls into silence again and he isn’t sure what to say, or if there even is anything to say at all. They both know what they’re walking into. It is a pretty concerning situation, even though he likes to think he doesn’t consciously worry about things too much. He deals with anxiety, yes, but aside from that, he considers himself a pretty laid back guy. Now, Bruce? Bruce seems chronically freaking distressed. 

“You and Supes weren’t friends, right?” Barry breaks the ice. “I remember reading news articles on the Internet, about the Bat of Gotham and the Son of Krypton engaging in a fight in Metropolis. An ugly beast they called ‘Doomsday’ killed Superman or something like that.” He says, anxiously waiting for an answer. He’s been curious about this ever since he learned Bruce is the Batman, and it's nice to finally gather up the courage to ask him about it. Well, maybe the liquid courage is already kicking in, but it’s a good accomplishment regardless.

“No, we weren’t.” Bruce shoots back, short of words. “I only realized Clark was a good man once I was close to killing him.” His voice gives out regret. Barry feels sorry for him. He looks sorrowful, like he’s been carrying way too much emotional baggage for a while now, even before Superman. A strange, warm feeling rises to Barry’s chest as he watches the man run a hand through his hair. He’s a mess… a strange and beautiful mess. He would be straight up lying to himself if he said Bruce isn’t one of the most attractive men he’s ever laid eyes on. He wonders if it’s all across his face when he looks at Bruce, that tingling feeling he’s been trying to ignore ever since he saw the man sitting on his second favorite chair back at his place in Central City. He wonders if Bruce thought of him that way, too. 

“Were you into him _that way_?” He blurts out without giving a much needed second thought, and immediately regrets it as Bruce’s eyes widen. He's shocked – appalled, even? – so he just stares back at Barry for a few moments.

“I didn’t really _know_ him,” Bruce finally responds. “He died moments after we made peace. The only thing emotionally linking me to him is guilt.” He sounds almost embarrassed. “Why do you want to know?” He inquires, voice deepening. 

“I, uh, nothing. I was just curious. You seem to… care about him.” He takes a big gulp of the scotch and only chokes a little, slightly more adjusted to the burning sensation now.

He knows he’s crossed a line here. He knows it, yet he can’t bring himself to care. He wants Bruce to tell him more, anything, _everything_ , but he’s too intimidated to move forward with the conversation, so he waits. Plans his next move as silence falls over their surroundings once again. Should he make a joke? Should he pretend it never happened and never ever start this type of conversation with Bruce again? Both options seem plausible, but before he gets the chance to say anything, Bruce slowly puts his now empty glass on the table and scoots over to the edge of his seat, resting his hands on top of his knees. 

“Is it because you want to know if I like men too, Barry?” Bruce inquires, voice thicker than usual. He feels his eyes widen so much he’s pretty sure they look like they’re going to pop out of his skull. 

The temperature in the room shifts, and Barry feels as if the ground has been swept off his feet. He's cornered. He wanted to get a reaction out of Bruce yet now that he has, he wants to run away as fast as possible. Funny how the one time he desperately wants to do that is when he’s forty thousand feet up in the air and factually can’t. He's a witty, agile-with-words king of guy, but as hard as he’s trying to come up with a joke to ease the mood, an answer, _anything_ that could get him out of this situation, nothing comes to mind.

“I-I… No. Of c-course not.” He stutters, wiping the sweat off his palms in his black jeans. “I don’t know. M… Maybe?” 

The sparkle in Bruce’s eyes change from sheer curiosity to something deeper, something darker. He can’t decide if it scares him or turns him on.

“I’m sorry. I-I don’t know what I’m doing, okay?” He keeps going. His father once told him he rambles a lot when he's nervous. “I mean, you’re the Batman. You’re super cool, man, and you’re also super cool off-costume. I don’t know what I was thinking, maybe I should-”

“It’s fine, Barry,” Bruce cuts him off. “You have nothing to be nervous about.” He's pretty sure Bruce’s words were supposed to sound reassuring, but they only make him want to crawl out of his skin more. He absolutely has everything to be nervous about. “The answer is yes, by the way.” Bruce casually continues. “What about you?” Bruce locks eyes with him, determined to get an answer. One thing is for sure: he won’t let Barry get away with this by playing it off as nothing. There’s no way around it.

“Maybe? Maybe…” He says, dumbfounded, staring back at Bruce as if hoping the man finishes his sentence. “Yes… Yeah, I do.” He manages, and his cheeks go up in flames. If Bruce is internally mocking Barry’s vulnerability he’s showing no signs of it, which half concerns and half relieves him to a certain degree. He takes another gulp of his drink. Oh boy, is he going to need it.

“Have you been with a man before?” Bruce blurts out as if he's asking about the weather, and Barry chokes heavily on the liquid, even more so than the first time: he’s dramatically coughing and gasping for air now in the most embarrassing way possible. He surely didn’t think they’d be having this conversation anytime soon. Or at any time, for that matter. He wasn’t planning on acting on the weird attraction he feels for the Batman at all, and he curses at himself for drinking from the damn expensive looking bottle in the first place. Stupid Barry, stupid. 

“No, I haven’t.” He manages after a good minute of pulling himself together. He’s probably even redder now, but he doesn’t care anymore.

“I see.” Bruce says, falling back onto the chair. “I’ve seen the way you look at me,” He continues, and Barry swallows dryly. “Do you want to be with me, Barry? We’ve got a few hours alone.”

Barry doesn't say anything, his mind short-circuiting in attempts of processing the fact that Bruce has known all along. He should’ve guessed it since Bruce is supposedly the greatest detective in the world… He's the Batman, for Christ’s sake, and the real weird thing would’ve been if he _hadn’t_ noticed. Barry doesn’t want to say yes out loud, but he doesn’t want to say no either, so he leaves the question unanswered. Silence is compliance, right? Bruce takes the hint and scans him from head to toe, making his skin burn. The man is thorough in his examination, he's pretty sure no one’s ever looked at him that way before. Ever. He feels like a little prey on the verge of getting dragged into the wolf’s den.

“Get up.” Bruce says after what feels like a lifetime. He's caught by surprise but does as he’s told, his brain going into panic mode: okay, you’re doing this, there’s no going back now, and it’s all in. Shit, shit, shit.

“Take off your coat and jacket.” Bruce orders and Barry is a little too quick to comply, resting his nearly empty glass on the table and taking off his black and red jacket and green coat, leaving him in a black t-shirt embedded with a white skull. It's childish and nerdy, he knows it, but Bruce seems to approve by giving him a fracture of a smile, which motivates him to do something not even he was expecting, let alone Bruce: climbing on top of him on the big comfortable chair, he straddles the man with his legs and goes in for a kiss. Bruce is taken by surprise but quickly catches up, squeezing the back of his thighs and pulling their intimate parts closer to each other. 

Bruce takes the lead and kisses Barry. Like _really_ kisses him. In the mouth, tongue and everything. One hand squeezes the back of his thigh, the other travels down his shirt and rests on the small of his back, eventually moving to his waist then settling back in place. Barry is nearly six foot tall but entangled in Bruce’s strong arms like this, big calloused hands draping over his body, his skin, the feeling of Bruce’s tongue against his, he feels smaller than ever. He has one hand rested on Bruce’s cheek and the other tugging gently at Bruce’s silver-painted locks, opening his mouth so Bruce can do as he pleases, letting out a small whimper that causes Bruce to tighten the grip on his waist and pull him closer. 

He whines quietly in protest when Bruce breaks the kiss, but it quickly turns into a soft moan once Bruce’s lips start a trail down his neck and jawline, biting gently at the base of his neck, the fabric of his t-shirt getting in the way of his collarbones. Bruce immediately does something about it by pulling the t-shirt up from his body and throwing it somewhere on the carpeted floor of the jet. He feels Bruce’s lips against his collarbones, moving from his neck to his earlobe, and he can’t do anything but throw his head back and moan, tightening his grip on Bruce’s hair and grinding down on him. 

“Get on your knees.” Bruce whispers in his ear, voice rough and filled with lust, and he gladly obeys. 

He goes straight to the point, unbuttoning Bruce’s black pants, lowering his boxers, and… Holy shit. He tries his best not to let his lips part wide open at the sight in front of him. Bruce is _huge_. He’d never actually thought about… Oh, wow. He’s in for a ride. Little Barry is freaking out a bit while the other side of him is hard as a rock, wanting nothing but to take a mouthful of Bruce Wayne’s cock already leaking pre-come for him, _because of him_. So that’s what he does.

“Fuck,” Bruce whispers and swallows thickly, letting out a deep sigh as Barry works his way around the length, licking up and down before taking most of it in, letting it hit the back of his throat. Barry has never done this to another man before. Girls have done it to him, but he discovers a strange pleasure in doing it to someone else, someone like the freaking Batman. He finds himself literally unable of tearing his gaze from the man's. “That’s good, Barry. You’re doing so good,” Bruce takes a handful of the boy’s Jet black hair and guides him, never taking his eyes off of his, and the intense visual contact would’ve made Barry blush if he wasn’t way past the point of caring. He enjoys this; he wants to make Bruce feel this good. 

His head bobs up and down Bruce’s shaft as one hand grips at the base, just the way he'd like it if it was done to him, his tongue working the head and slowly licking at the side.

“Shit, Barry, I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up,” Bruce says, and he’s so out of it he’s almost _painting_ , his hair a mess, and Barry notices a single drop of sweat running down the side of his flushed face. Okay, maybe he's going faster than he thought he was – he never does it on purpose, though, it just happens – it’s not like he can control the effect his powers have on him every second of the day, especially when he’s in a situation like this. He releases Bruce’s cock with a wet plop and apologetically looks up at him. He really doesn’t want to mess this up. The Batman is his idol. Bruce Wayne is a… very cool, very attractive billionaire, and they’re the same person. He'd beat himself up forever if he didn’t get this right now that he has the chance. 

“It’s alright,” Bruce says, helping him up. “Do you want to… Have you ever…” Bruce looks for the right words, and he's dumbfounded for a second before he realizes where Bruce is trying to get.

“Not really.” He hesitantly says. “But I want to… I want to try.” 

Bruce’s eyes lit up and starts to work on fully undressing, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. Barry doesn’t know what to do so he stands there, waiting for guidance. 

“Take off the rest of your clothes and lay down on the sofa.” Bruce orders. Barry takes off his sneakers, jeans, boxers, throwing them at his previous chair. He’s still hard and the cool air in the room brings him back to reality, causing him to shiver in embarrassment, but he sits down on the sofa anyway. He watches Bruce go through a black drawer and retrieve a small yellow container of what looks like body lotion.

“Bend over.” Bruce commands as he approaches Barry in the comfortable sofa, and he does as he’s told, propping himself against a small wall under the TV monitor. Being in such a vulnerable position makes him uneasy. He’s seen guys fuck in porn, but never thought he’d have the guts to do actually do it in real life. Dudes have approached him in college, but he was never into any of them. 

Maybe he’s into older men like Bruce, he thinks. Maybe that’s why.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Barry?” Bruce’s tone is softer, one hand placed in the small of his back as he caresses and reassures the boy, and all he can do is nod. He doesn’t know what common sense is anymore, and he doesn’t care. All he knows is he wants this… He wants it badly. 

Barry hears the recipient of what he assumes is lube make a “pop!” sound and then Bruce’s hands are spreading him open in the sofa, causing him to lie down and hug the green cushion under him, putting him in a comfortable position. Bruce holds him still and teases his hole, getting a small sigh in return. 

“ _Oh,_ ” Barry squirms, painting shallowly as Bruce slides one finger up until the third knuckle, his nerve endings lighting up like a Christmas tree. _Fuck_ , he thinks, _this feels good_. He shakes as Bruce carefully works his finger inside of him in a slow burning movement of in and out until Bruce hits a special spot that has him moaning and seeing a million stars in the back of his eyes.

Bruce slides in another finger, and then another one, and he feels like he’s going to come apart, like he’s going to explode into a million pieces, like he’s too full, too much, yet _not enough._

“F-fuck… Bruce, please…” He pants, a sweat breaking out across his forehead. “I—I need you to…” 

“What? Tell me, Barry.” Bruce’s voice is rough and demanding, and Barry is hit by a sudden urge to look at him. 

“I-I want to-” He stops mid-sentence when Bruce hits that spot again, three fingers in, up until the third knuckle. He feels like he could come from just this, just from Bruce’s fingers, but he doesn’t want to. He wants Bruce. “I want to ride you.”

“Huh,” Bruce fucks the boy a little faster with his fingers, causing Barry to throw his head back and let out a loud and thorough moan. “Is that so?”

Bruce removes his fingers and he softly whines in protest, almost begging Bruce to put them back in. “Turn around,” Bruce says and he does exactly that, catching Bruce’s eyes as the man goes in for a kiss, mouth hot and slick against his, dominating all his senses. Barry is so into it, he only realizes he’s lying on top of Bruce on the sofa when they break the kiss in search of air. He leans back with tingling lips, breathing hard, and Bruce places his hands on his hips, guiding him. 

The next thing he feels is Bruce’s hot, thick length as his heat squeezes around him, forcing all the air out of both their lungs.

“Holy shit,” Barry says, closing his eyes, taking it all in way too fast. “Fuck, you’re so big,” He whimpers and slides further down, feeling his walls expand around the huge cock he was so eager to take. 

“Barry,” Bruce says, sighing deeply, trying _really really hard_ to keep it together, “Slow down.” 

He slides up and down again, letting out a chain of curse words as he does so and Bruce grips at his thighs hard enough to leave bruises. He opens his eyes, determined to enjoy every minute of this. He’s fucking Bruce Wayne, the Batman. He wants to make it last as long as possible. 

“Fuck, fuck, you’re…” Barry says, going slower than ever, holding every last bit of his powers back, eyes rolling back when he sinks down so far Bruce’s cock hits that special spot inside of him again. “You feel so good.” 

“Slowly. Do it slowly,” Bruce trails a hand over Barry's jawline, pulling him in for another kiss, sloppy and messy, all tongue and hot breath. 

“You look so beautiful like this, Barry,” Bruce says when they break apart, nails digging deeper into his skin. “Fuck, you’re taking it so good.” Bruce groans as he slides back down in a painfully slow movement.

They both let out a synchronized moan when Barry pulls back up a little faster and sinks all the way down again. They keep up that slow movement for maybe ten, fifteen minutes, and it’s driving them both crazy, but it feels insanely good. Barry picks up his pace, baring his throat as he fucks himself on Bruce’s cock, the sound of skin against skin and Barry’s breathy little _"Ah, ah, ah"'s_ the only audible sounds in the jet. 

He decides to give Bruce a little something he’s always wanted to try but never had the chance to given the fact that none of the girls he hooks up with knows about his powers. Here, right now, fucking a man who knows exactly what he’s capable of, sure as hell feels like the perfect moment to try it. 

“I’m gonna go faster now, Bruce.” He warns and Bruce places firm hands on his waist as he starts to fucks himself on Bruce’s cock like there’s no tomorrow. No end of the world to worry about, no robot demons, no Superman to bring back to life, no ancient God they need to defeat. Nothing else matters. 

He goes for an inhumanly fast pace that’s not too fast to hurt, and damn, it feels so good it makes him want to scream. Bruce is kissing him when he starts to come untouched, moaning loudly against his mouth as he viciously fucks himself into the man’s cock and whispers every dirty word in the book, yells out Bruce's name, and drives Bruce across the edge too as he rides out every last aftershock. 

He pulls out, letting himself fall on top of Bruce. He immediately realizes it was a bad reflex, though, giving the fact that he came all over Bruce’s chest. Bruce chuckles lightly against the boy’s damp hair, caressing it with a surprising softness.

“Kid, don’t blame me if I find it hard to believe that was your first time.” Bruce sneers, and Barry actually laughs. He can’t believe it either… It was one of the most fantastic experiences of his life and he has no idea how he even did it.

“Well, you’re just gonna have to take my word for it.” He says, and removes himself off of Bruce, sitting down on the sofa as Bruce gets up as well and brings them clean towels to get rid of the mess.

Two things Barry knows for sure: the jet is going to smell like sex for the rest of the trip, and he’s not sure they’re both going to have enough self-restraint to resist a second – or third, or forth – round. Best part of it? It’s not a bad thing, not by a long shot.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you want me to write more for the Justice League movie! Also, English isn't my first language so don't be as harsh on my mistakes. ^-^


End file.
